


Those Kinds Of Feelings

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Medical Kink, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Han is the only person Luke could ever trust with his secret.





	

**Author's Note:**

> @bisexualr2d2 asked for a Skysolo fic with sounding. Hope this does the trick!

Sharing his secret with Han was not a quick decision on Luke’s part. In fact, it took years. Han, even when he got over the initial shock about Luke’s request, might never have guessed what event had been the first piece that had fallen into place, how long ago it had been.

The night after the Battle of Yavin was one of revelry, where an only-slightly-drunk Han had pulled Luke – intoxicated himself, on victory – into a secluded corner of the temple, and bestowed upon him what he had vowed would be the most sincere and deeply passionate kiss of his life. Luke let him go on as long as he liked – indifferent to it. When Han released him, he gently made himself clear:

“I think,” he said, “that if it would be anyone, it would be you. But, I just can’t. I don’t have those kinds of feelings.”

Han blinked. “Don’t have those kinds of feelings…at all? What about the princess? You seem pretty fond of her. If you’re just trying to let me down easy–”

Luke put up a hand, hoping to quiet Han’s indignation. “I do feel something very strong for Leia, and I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not that. I don’t like her that way. I just want her to be safe and happy.”

It was starting to get through to Han, now, that Luke was being serious, and that its sounding strange didn’t make what he was saying any less sincere. Han nodded to indicate that he was conceding, and gave Luke a brief, fond pat on the shoulder. “Alright, kid, no problem. I won’t give you any more trouble.” He started to walk away, then hesitated. Turning to give Luke a final, meaningful look, he said, “If you change your mind, though…”

Luke laughed. “You’ll be the first one to know, I promise.” He strode past Han, back in the direction of the festivities. “Come on, we’re missing the party.”

From then on, outside of a little harmless flirting, Han remembered and respected what Luke had told him that night, and his devotion to Luke was not diminished in the least.

 

***

 

Huddled together in a tiny shelter on one of Hoth’s endless frozen plains, Luke’s first coherent words to Han were, “You didn’t have to come after me.”

Han dismissed this outright. “Of course I had to do come after you. I couldn’t trust that anyone else would have found you. Just like I couldn’t trust that anyone else was gonna cover your behind when you made that run at the Death Star – and I was right about that, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, with a weak but playful grin. “You were right about that one thing, one time.”

Han rolled his eyes. “I’m so glad to know your sense of humor has survived intact.”

He pressed his body against Luke’s, which Luke at first found alarming; it soon became apparent, though, that it was only to warm him, and no attempt at seduction was forthcoming. After the storm cleared, and the patrol found them, he said, quietly, to Han, “Thank you for not being tempted to, uh, try anything while we were crammed together in the shelter.”

“What, you mean try and make it sexy?” Han snorted. “Kid, I could hardly stand to be with you in there at all, what with you smelling like the inside of a tauntaun.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re welcome.”

 

***

 

Han’s absence wore on Luke. Although he had many friends, whom he knew he could count on, Luke missed Han’s sly, crooked smile, which matched his irreverent brand of loyalty. Things seemed so much more grim without him. It made Luke even more intensely motivated to free him from Jabba’s palace – that, and the certainty that Han would have done the same for him, without hesitation, had their places been swapped.

If the rescue had failed, Luke might never have decided to share his secret with anyone. There was no one else he felt he could trust with it, to understand not so much what it meant, as what it _didn’t_ mean. To do what Luke asked, and nothing else.

Luke waited patiently, long after the Battle of Endor, until there was an evening when things were calm but during which Han was not keeping company with Leia. Having been granted admittance to Han’s quarters, Luke sat down, and told Han what he needed.

Han agreed to it, not least because he could not stand the thought of the task being left to anyone else. He only ever asked one question, and it was several days later, when everything was all set up and laid out: the equipment clean and sterile on the table, and Luke undressed on the bed. Only then, after all the preparation and anticipation, did he ask how Luke found out he had this secret in the first place.

“I read about it when I was a teenager,” Luke said, “when I was trying to figure out what was…why I didn’t want to do the things my friends were doing. I tried it by myself, but it became clear pretty quick that I couldn’t. Not safely.” He almost said something else, but he noticed that Han was leering at his naked body.

Han cleared his throat, embarrassed he’d been caught but not apologetic. “Doesn’t cost anything to look, right?”

He seated himself at Luke’s side. “Guess we’ll get started now,” he said, in that low, muttering tone he used when he was uncertain about what he was doing, but unwilling to show any trepidation. From the tray on the table, he picked up the thin metal rod. Luke watched, willing his body to relax, to be still and not flinch. He had considered restraints, but had decided he had the discipline to do without. Now he wasn’t so sure. At the sight of the rod, he began to sweat.

Han took up the bottle of lubricant, squeezing a long strand all along the rod. Watching it dribble down the length, Luke’s toes curled. He took deep breaths as Han gently, reverently, held Luke’s half-hard prick upright with forefinger and thumb, bringing the rod down until tip touched tip.

Luke couldn’t tell if Han was purposely teasing his slit with the instrument, or if he was merely hesitating; it was all he could do to keep from cursing Han for his cruelty, sliding it back and forth like that, slick and cold. At last, the bud of the rod caught on his slit and began to delve. Luke’s stomach lurched; he could accommodate it, he knew he could, but the sensation of his delicate flesh yielding to the metal sent him into a panic. All sensation was amplified. His skin prickled; he could feel every bead of sweat as it emerged.

And the shock did not wear off. It only got more intense, the further Han reached into his body with the instrument. Han went so slow, enough time for the metal to warm to his body temperature as it sank inside. With every incremental movement, it only became clearer to Luke that _it wasn’t supposed to be in there_. But whenever he could collect himself enough to ask, _Is this pain?_ The answer was always “No.” This continuous realization sent waves of hot relief though his guts, his limbs. This was the only penetration he’d ever craved, and now that he had it, oh, he thought he might die.

He looked to Han, whose face was a mask of calm concentration. He wanted to open his mouth to say something, seek reassurance, but he wasn’t sure what would tumble out if he did. Perhaps it would be his heart, which felt like it was in his throat.

Soon, though, all superfluous sensation faded away, as Luke was forced to draw his entire focus to the way he was being stretched inside. His hands twisted desperately in the damp, sweaty sheets. All his training, the discipline in which he took such pride, was unraveling into sheer terror. What had happened a moment ago was always fine, bearable, but what was happening _now_ was always sure to be his undoing. Until it wasn’t; and then the next moment arrived. Luke’s measured breaths degenerated into panting. And yet, the thrumming of his blood, the tingling of his nerve endings, was spiraling into a gorgeous ache of fierce arousal.

Distantly, he heard Han’s voice. “Hey, you alright? I think that’s as far as it will go.” With the last of his concentration, Luke made himself still and some semblance of composed. He nodded curtly, which Han took as a signal to proceed. Now that it was fully seated, Han held the instrument still, and gently slid Luke’s foreskin the slightest bit up and down, just over the crown.

“You look beautiful, kid,” Han whispered. “The way you’re taking it is so beautiful.”

Then he did something that Luke had forgotten he’d asked for: he gave the rod a slow twist, just a quarter-turn. Luke twitched, before he remembered he absolutely should not do so. He was being tugged at in a new way now, the discomfort delectable, the urgency inescapable. Rooted somewhere in that feeling, so extraordinary and alien that it could barely be called pleasure, a familiar sensation bubbled up: impending orgasm.

Luke’s body was achingly taut now that the need for release was consuming him; he had held out as long as he could against the coiling urgency in his groin, but groaned at last, “Take it out. I have to come now. I _have_ to.”

Han obeyed, but slowly. Coming out, the rod felt like the agonizing end of an orgasm, leaving him too sensitive, just beyond pleasure and edging into torment. The only thing more shocking than the feeling of the rod inside him was the void it left when Han took it out, and Luke began to come, violently, finally unleashing all the built-up need to scream. It was such a relief to be able to howl and thrash, to finally be allowed to react appropriately to the sensation of his whole body being turned inside out. His ejaculate surged and spilled, a seemingly endless pulsing that left him shuddering and helpless.

Wrung out, he continued to shake for a long time. The white noise in his head persisted. The first dim sensation he was able to register, as the room stopped spinning, was his aching jaw; he’d been clenching it.

But above all, he felt utterly safe. So, as the soft jerks of his overstimulated body subsided, he allowed himself to drift into a doze.

When he returned to consciousness, he found that Han had cleaned up his ejaculate and covered him in a light blanket, and was now packing up the equipment. “How did I do, kid?” he asked softly, when he noticed that Luke had opened his eyes. “Was that what you needed?”

“It was wonderful,” Luke croaked; his throat felt rusty.

Han helped him sit up and take a drink of water. “You let me know when you’re ready to move,” he said, “and we’ll get you to the ‘fresher.”

“If you don’t make me get up now, I never will.” Luke flopped his arms around Han’s shoulders. Han first nudged Luke by the waist, but eventually accepted that he’d have to grasp him around his back and under his knees. He’d been expecting Luke to stand on his own, but if Luke needed to be hoisted and carried a little ways, Han could manage it.

“Can we do this again someday?” Luke slurred, as Han trudged with him to the ‘fresher.

“All of it except the carrying part, huh?” Han grunted. “You’re heavier than you look.”

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this kind of nonsense


End file.
